


The Hook, the Line…

by roxymissrose



Series: This Small Dark Place [4]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:05:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6549982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up. Life becomes clearer, boundaries more visible.</p><p>Jensen is fourteen</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hook, the Line…

Jensen waited at the edge of the drive with masterHouseboy and his assistant. They stood slightly behind and to the left of Mistress. The collar of Jen's formal uniform cut in under his chin slightly. He'd ask Jared's roomgirl to adjust it for him, later, see if maybe she could cut it down a tiny bit, just enough so that he'd be able to drop his chin comfortably…. 

As of right now, though, Jensen concentrated on standing ramrod straight; he held his hands crossed behind his back, mindful of his form. Jared waved at him before he climbed up into the cab—his cheery goodbye rang out over the hiss of the steam engines. 

Once inside the cab, Jared flung the window open, tossed a perfunctory wave to his mother before flailing his arms at Jensen. Ignoring his mother's warning to be careful, Jared leaned out of the window, blowing Jensen a kiss and Jen carefully, secretively, shared a goodbye wink with Jared.

A week without Jared was going to be odd—since he'd come to the Padalecki Estate, he'd only been without Jared for a brief hour or two a day. It was going to be lonely—though he had no doubt masterHouseboy would find plenty to keep him occupied. 

The footman made a final inspection, making sure the baggage pods were secure, and the driver whistled the all clear. Jared's nanny pulled him back from the large window and slid the pane shut. Moments later, the engines hissed and groaned to life as the cab took off. 

Mistress sighed, turned to 'Houseboy and said, "Jim, you have the reins for the month I'll be away to the Continent. Make sure that you contact Jared everyday while he is at my brother's. He's a delicate boy, as you're well aware…make sure his companion contacts him as well. Jared is extremely attached to him."

Jensen's heart soared. He didn't just have permission to keep contact with Jared, it was _ordered_ he keep contact. He just managed to keep from smiling, but judging by the rather amused smirk Mistress graced him with, not very successfully. 

She was handed into her own cab, her skirts swirling around her ankles before she settled on the leather bench. She took a slim book from her bag and was soon lost in its pages, while masterMaid oversaw the footman loading Mistress' bags into the luggage pod, before climbing into the cab as well. The door was closed and the stairs were folded away, the engines hissed and steam fanned out from around the wheels. The cab rolled smoothly down the drive, taking Mistress Padalecki off to the airship field. Jensen tried to imagine the foreign lands she was off to visit, tried to put Mistress into the pictures he's seen of Espania, Francia, Albion….

He envied masterMaid. How nice it must be to go every wonderful place Mistress wished to go. She'd looked excited, almost pretty, with her cheeks flushed pink and the severe line of her lips softened somewhat…Jensen was surprised the woman could even manage a facial expression other than that unimpressed glower. Now 'Maid was wrapped up in a handsome traveling cloak just like a real person, off to fly away on a magical airship, cutting its way through the clouds.

* ** * 

Jensen was in the kitchen working through a cooking lesson—today the lesson was especially interesting as it was a dish that Jared especially enjoyed. He rocked back and forth a bit, humming quietly as he stirred the gravy he was attempting to make. He liked simple tasks like this; let his mind wander as he worked. Slowly he became aware that there was another sound overtaking the normal kitchen noises. A faint growling sound grew louder and louder—now that he heard it properly, he recognized instantly. He took the gravy off the stove and set it by before dashing to the window. He leaned out on the wide sill, eyes fastened on the sky, and in a few minutes was rewarded with the sight of an airship. It was one of the elegant skyliners, gliding past, high above the clouds. He could hear the distant rush of sound, see sunlight glint off its sparkling sides. A great traveler, just like the one Mistress and masterMaid had taken.

Jensen leaned out of the window as far as he could, a sudden brisk wind making his hair whip…oh, how much he envied the airship pilots, the messengers and postmen, the skyliner captains. Living life, being whoever they were, high, high, above the grip of the Land. 

That was real freedom, what they had. Nothing to hold you back but the winds and the rain, turning onto a new path for the worst of storms…. Jensen smiled, then blinked rapidly as the ship curved on its course and the sunlight it reflected dazzled him.

Jensen wondered if Jared liked the airliners and ornithopters as much as he did. He thought about the intricate little clockwork ornithopters and birds that sat on Jared's bookshelf. He thought…maybe Jared would like to see flight in a different way. 

After finally making a gravy that 'Cook declared edible, and cleaning the prep tables and sweeping the floors so that other kitchen thralls could wash them, he managed to talk 'Cook out of some flour and sugar, and a few sheets of parchment paper. When she wasn't looking, he filched a spool of twine as well.

Jensen walked through the garden towards the nursery, looking for, and finding, some thin, flexible twigs. He added those to his bundle. He laid all his treasures out on Jared's writing desk, arranging and rearranging them. He hoped Jared would enjoy this toddlers' game—not that Jensen planned to tell him it was a toddler favorite, seeing as how Jared was adamant that he was no longer a toddler—he was "a big boy, now". Jensen smiled, thinking of how much Jared had grown since he'd first come to the Padalecki Estate. It was true, Jared was a big boy now—if he'd not been born into his rank, Jared's childhood would have long been over. Jensen sighed. If life had gone down a different route for himself, his childhood would have well and truly ended the moment he set foot on the estate. But, it hadn't, and he was happy, and he was now going to put thoughts about what might have been behind him.

* * * 

When Jared was home again, Jen showed him how to make paste, and how to arrange the thin twigs on the pieces of parchment. He attached string to the crossed centers of the twigs, and then long tails of lighter weight paper, the paper Jared practiced his cursive handwriting on.

He walked Jared out to meadow behind the garden, and explained "kite", and then explained home-made toys, and then explained thrall toddler games and songs, the things toddlers had leave to do until they came of age to serve. 

He tried to explain to Jared how magical those six years were, how unbelievably _free_ a toddler's life was.

Jared listen, eyes full of fascination, mouth open as if to absorb Jen's words right onto his tongue. "But Jensem, why juth eight years?" he asked, recently lost teeth lending a lisp to his words Jensen silently found endearing. "Why are they not allowed to play every day? Why make toys thtead of buying them? Jensem, sometimes I see the ones my age running after the harvest wagon—they get to play thtill." He eyed Jensen suspiciously.

So Jensen explained that what Jared saw wasn't play, that the children were being allowed to glean the fields for whatever the field thralls missed. It was the harvest holidays, Halloween Day, when all smart children found themselves treats. Jensen smiled as he told the stories, though being a house thrall he'd never participated in Halloween Day, he'd always watched from the porch with the master. Master Patrick had gifted each of the house children with a peppermint stick all their own, or wax paper rolls of Necco Wafers. Jensen himself almost always got an orange, or a banana—he had been Master's favorite. 

Still, he could remember the joyful look of children finding potatoes, or stripping errant pods from bean vines. Jensen couldn't remember a time he'd ever been that hungry, never felt more than a pinch of not enough for a growing child to eat. It felt good to remember how happy the thralls had been.

He told his stories and to his surprise, Jared wasn't laughing with him. He looked vaguely outraged, his lower lip a plush little pillow, thrust out and begging to be poked. "I don’t like that thtory. You make it sound like our thralls don't get enough to eat. You make it sound like we make them work in the fields and house and never get any reth. You're a _liar."_

"It's the Gods' truth, Jared. It's not…it's not bad _or_ good. It's just…what it is. The way it's always been, I guess. I don't know. I tell you the truth, because I can't lie to you. I _wouldn't_ lie to you, you're way too smart a boy for that."

Jared sat quietly, huddled over the kite he'd made. He was still for a very long time, until at last, he blinked once or twice very slowly. He shuddered, and then finally, looked Jensen in the eye again. "I thtill don’t like it. I still think…it's wrong. All little children should play and get enough to eat. When I'm grown, I'll fix it, Jensem, I will. "

Jensen didn't answer, he just stood, took hold of the kite Jared had made. He coaxed Jared to his feet and urged him to run, began to run as well, until the wind lifted the kite and had it dancing on the wind. Jensen handed the string to Jared. "Go, Jared, you must run faster if you want to keep the kite flying!"

The little boy ran like wolves were chasing him. Flying up the hillside, he looked back towards Jensen, found him smiling, and he returned it. Jensen watched Jared run, his whole heart and soul in it. His chestnut hair whipped around his face, his grin was so wide and white, framed by deep paired dimples and it made Jensen's own heart clench.

* * *

  
Wet spring reluctantly gave way to drier summer: longer days, hotter days, rain showers warm as bath water, cool pond water when the air grew so hot only the field thralls were moving.

Jensen would see them, every few days, from his perch on the back of the market wagon. Clutching Jared's market purchases in his hands, he'd watch the field workers as the wagon rolled past the long expanse of fields. Jensen certainly didn't have to see them to know just how lucky he was, how easy his life as the companion of a master's only child was. He watched the sweat-drenched men struggling to avoid the sun for a few minutes, fighting for space under a sunshade Mistress had thoughtfully provided. He heard them calling—begging—for water, and thought he'd rather kill himself than die of being worked into dust….

The summer months included Jared visiting his grandmother for a week or two while Mistress flew off to whatever it was she did away from home, and during that time, Jensen exercised his permission to wander the estate whenever he wasn't working with the housekeeping staff, or maintaining his studies in order to help tutor Jared, or training in the kitchen. His wandering led to spending time in the technologist's shop—when he wasn’t allowed there, he'd end up in the stables. Jensen went from being mildly interested in what it took to care for the horses to developing a love for it, and for the horses.

All Jensen's life, he'd longed hopelessly to fly. Born a thrall meant that he'd never be more than cargo—never soar free and high above the world, but in the stables, he learned something wonderful…when he was on horseback, the feeling was almost as good as he imagined flying must be. 

Working in the stuffy stall—his clothing clinging to him wet with sweat, straw in his hair and prickling down the back of his shirt—was heaven. Working with the horses was never something he considered a chore. He didn’t mind shoveling shit. He didn’t mind feeding them, brushing them, working knots out of manes, stones from hooves, because it was something he was allowed to _choose_ to do. In that way, it was time that was his alone. 

The horses wanted nothing but food and water, basic care. They accepted it and gave him uncomplicated companionship in return. He took care of them and they let him fly. It was a good exchange, and he'd miss it so much when Jared came back. Maybe…maybe he could convince masterHousemaid that it would be a good thing for the young master to learn to ride—fresh air, exercise—

The horse wrangler claimed it was good for a young man, that it built strength and character, because the horses wouldn't accept the weak-boned and weak-willed. Maybe.

* * * 

It was a sultry August evening, and Jensen was enjoying the pleasure of a little quiet time all to himself. He sat blissfully alone in the children's garden, watching fireflies dance across the black lawn, glowing in the dark bushes like tiny Christmas lights. He was remembering good days in the past, and what fun could be had on summer evenings, chasing fireflies. Along with the other house toddlers and children, they'd chase after them; capturing the fireflies in glass bottles they'd carefully cleaned and dried. They'd tied bits of cast off cloth around the top of the jars to keep their captives in. Having the jar in his room had been like having a handful of stars all to his own. He'd loved it, and was certain Jared would too. Of course, the young master had to have something much finer than a thrall's empty old milk bottle. He had an idea….

That evening in his cubby, he took an old work sheet out of his desk, turned it to the blank side and began sketching, ideas tumbling in his head, a small, content smile bowing his lips. 

The next morning found him waiting at the shop door for the Master Technologist to arrive. Master Technologist Michael always welcomed him in the shop, even though he never remembered Jensen's name. Not much of a surprise, considering that he'd never once realized that 'Eric's' name was something totally not Eric. 

As always, the master's hair was a thick, wild halo of dark brown, standing every which way on his head and pushed away from his face by the thick goggles that almost always hung around his neck, when they weren’t in use as goggles or a headband. His face lit up in genuine pleasure—there was something almost child-like and sweet about him, Jensen thought. Master Tech's gray eyes flitted critically all over Jensen, from toes to top, before he seemed satisfied. "Well, hello, young…er, young lad. You're looking very well I'm glad to see, growing like a…like a…whatayacallit. Tree. Bush…weed! Come to visit with your old friend Eric? He'll be awfully pleased to see you."

Master Tech Michael looked so pleased himself that he'd come to visit that Jensen didn’t have the heart to tell him he doubted Eric would care, barely knew who he was outside of Jensen's occasional visits. And in fact, when Eric came into the shop, he gave Jensen a blank, slightly curious look, until Michael said, "Oh, do go on, Eric—take a moment or two to catch up with your little friend. The shop won't collapse if you take tea with him." He gave Eric an exaggerated wink.

Jensen slipped a subtle wink of his own at Eric, who shrugged his shoulders. "Well…come on then, we've got tea and stuff in the back of the shop. Watch your step—don’t break anything."

They ate as Jensen described to Eric what he wanted, if there were scraps available to him. Michael, overhearing, wouldn’t allow them to use scraps—not for the young master of the house. He pored over Jensen's drawing, complimenting him extravagantly, making Jensen blush…suggested some minor changes in design and then went to it with as much enthusiasm as Jensen had for the project.

They built little filigree cages out of glass panels, held together with metal and wire hinges, and topped off a wire mesh cover, the holes small enough to keep the fireflies from escaping. The cover fit tightly, but could be easily removed, and there was a little handle attached, so that Jared could hang the cage on a hook if he wanted to. 

Jensen gave the cages a last polish, and then cleaned the bench and tools they'd used. He waved goodbye to 'Eric' and the Master Technologist before hurrying back to the nursery; the little cages clasped in his arms like pirate treasure. When Jared came back, he would show him how to collect lightning bugs and it would be fun. Jensen smiled to think of Jared's excited face.

* * * 

Jared ran back and forth across the lawn, along the edges where the Crepe Myrtle shrubs grew. His excited voice rang out, calling to Jensen, calling to his mother. "Look what Jensen made, he's so clever isn’t he, Mother?" Jensen couldn't help grinning; Jared looked so excited, so happy. His endearing little lisp had faded, but the deeper dimples in his cheeks and the wide, white smile Jared was turning on Mistress more than made up for the loss, he thought.

The creak of wicker as Mistress leaned back in her lawn chair drew his attention to her; she caught Jensen's eyes as his head turned. "Yes, darling," she answered her son, a thoughtful tone coloring her voice. "He is at that, very clever." 

Jensen quickly cast his eyes down, but not before seeing a weighing sort of look in Mistress' piercing eyes.

* * * 

Autumn crept in quietly, bringing a gradual cooling…the muggy, close air of late summer became brisk breezes and surprise rain showers, leaving behind lovely, sticky puddles he struggled to keep Jared out of—occasionally Jensen threw up his hands and surrendered to Jared and they sailed little paper boats across especially good puddles, watching them skim around the surfaces until they grew too waterlogged and sank. From time to time, they were caught by assistant Houseboy, who shook his head at Jensen. Jensen would blush—he was after all, very much too old to play such childish games. He'd feel worse about it if assistant Houseboy didn't also look sort of…satisfied, to see Jensen playing so.

* * * 

Mistress was home after a long stay in Albion, and that meant a formal dinner—a suit for the young master, full dress uniforms for the thralls who served, and for Jensen. They sat in the formal dining room. All along the length of the dark cherry table, beeswax candles flickered, perfuming the air and softening the harsher light of the electric sconces on the wall. It was quiet, silverware clinking musically against china a counterpoint to Mistress' audiocon station, piping in music suitable for a quiet family meal at home.

The stately quiet lasted until the third course, when it was broken by Jared's enthusiastic, "Mother, Jensen has been telling me about his time in the stables. Say, do you know he has to shovel _poop?"_ He made an endearing little scrunch of his nose, an expression that made Jensen smile fondly and try to quell the urge to sweep over to Jared's seat and smooth that wrinkle out between his brows. 

"Jared, you mustn't say…" Mistress started, but then stopped herself with a small sigh. After a moment she went on. "How interesting. And what else does Jensen do?"

"He brushes the horses and feeds them—they can have apples as treats, you know—and leads them out of and back to the stalls…" his face lit up and his voice rose with his excitement. He exclaimed, "Sometimes he even _rides_ the horses, Mother! He says it is so much fun! I'd like to ride too, may I? _Please?_ Stable master can give me rides, and, and…oh…" He wound down into abashed silence at his mother's dry little cough.

Mistress Padalecki set her silverware down and carefully dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "Well. Well. Yes, I will think about it. I suppose a gentleman should be able to ride," she said doubtfully. "It's something that your…father loved. But. This…this _poop_ shoveling…" she fixed Jared with a sharp look, one eyebrow raised in a perfect curve. 

Jared, and certainly Jensen, expected her to say that Jensen would be shoveling the poop for the both of them, in fact doing all the dirty, dusty, smelly work of taking care of a horse. Of course. 

"Jensen."

"Yes, Mistress?"

"You will _not_ do Jared's work in the stable. If he wants a horse, he must do whatever it takes to keep it healthy and happy on his own. No help, am I understood?" 

"Yes, Mistress," Jensen said, shock strangling his voice to a harsh whisper. For a brief moment, Jared looked absolutely thunderous; his mouth dropped open, but just as swiftly closed. He narrowed his eyes at Jensen, glaring at him as though he'd engineered the whole thing. Jen worried—he was only going to lose and lose badly if he was about to be speared between conflicting masters' orders. He lowered his eyes and swallowed hard. Of course he'd have to kneel under Mistress' orders; she had the power to truly, physically, hurt him. Jared could only make his life miserable. 

Suddenly, a slightly sticky hand pressed over his fingers, Jared gave Jensen's hand a gentle squeeze. When Jensen dared a look, Jared was smiling softly at him. 

Jensen let out the barest breath of relief. _Understood, and forgiven._

"If we are totally understood, Jared, then yes, you may ride."

* * * 

Not surprisingly, Jared turned out to be a quick study. By the time Thanksgiving Day came around, he and Jensen were at ease with riding, and Jensen thought the stable master had been right—riding had done a lot towards building confidence in Jared. He was definitely less the self-absorbed little boy he'd first met. He seemed more aware of the people around him, was developing into a charmer. In fact, Jared soon had everyone eating out of his hand, and Jensen was highly amused by that. Jared was growing into a master but in a good way, Jensen thought. He was never mean or overbearing—he didn't let his station overcome the sense of was right and proper that his mother sought to teach him.

* * * 

A few days after Thanksgiving Day, per Jared's wishes, the two of them were allowed to take advantage of the last of the warm days—that meant taking Jared's horses out all on their own.

They rode his horses along the carefully designed meadow near the rearward property line of the estate. masterCook had packed a cold supper for them, and they planned to stay all the rest of the day, ignoring anything but their own pleasure. With permission, of course.

They eventually came to a stop near a little pond Mistress Padalecki had had built the previous summer so that Jared could swim safely in the summer months. Jensen unpacked the bag that held their supper and drinks, and smoothed a blanket over the thick grass. Jared walked around the edge of the pond while Jensen puffed up a couple of travel pillows, chattering away as he hunted for good throwing stones.

"Next season, I'm going to be going to school with the other boys. You'll be going with me," Jared said, trying to skip rocks across the pond. 

"Please be careful, Jared. The water's quite cold at this time of year and riding back freezing and drenched is not something you'd want to experience."

Jared shrugged, "We'll just exchange clothes," he said, but backed up from the water anyway. Jensen continued to pound some life back into the flattened pillows, keeping his eyes locked on them as he beat and beat them. 

"Aren't you excited to go to school with me?" Jared crowed and threw himself on the blanket next to Jensen. He plopped his legs in Jensen's lap and smiled his perfect smile, so wide and bright, brighter than the sun and pulling Jensen in. How could he not resist that smile, how could he not want to make Jared smile like that all the time?

"I'm very excited, of course I am. Here, try the pigeon pie; I helped 'Cook make it."

"Oh, good—is there berry pie as well? Oh, and when we go to school, you'll have to call me Master…" he frowned. "I…I guess we'll get used to it, right?"

"Of course we will, would you like some cocoa? 'Cook sent a bottle for you and a bottle for me…it's gotten rather chillier now, hasn't it. Perfect for a hot drink."

Jared leaned against Jensen, grabbed his free hand and pretended to braid his fingers while Jensen read out loud from a new book of Jared's—one of the gifts Mistress Padalecki brought Jared from her visit abroad.

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates, blunt the knives and bend the forks—"

"Jensen, are there really hobbits in Albion, do you think? I'd like to meet one if there are," he murmured, twisting the tail of Jensen's shirt. 

"No, no, it's just a tale, but a fun one don’t you think?"

Jared brightened up again. "Oh, it's brilliant," he smiled. "Please read some more."

"I will if you will finally eat some of this food while I read." 

Jared nodded very enthusiastically, nibbling away as Jensen read; eventually he fell asleep to the sound of Jensen's voice and his horses moving about quietly in the background. Jensen let him sleep, stroking the hair out of his face and humming an old lullaby…he smiled. How scandalized Jared would be if he'd been awake to hear it.

* * * 

When he'd been a thrall of Master Patrick's estate, the Yuletide season had been almost his favorite time of year. Certainly there'd been a lot of work, but there'd also been time for fun. Early on, he'd understood—somewhat—that it was unusual for Master Patrick to do what he'd done, to include the thralls in a holiday that belonged to free men. Master Patrick's family were only invited on the last day of Yule—on the first and second, it was only Master and his thralls. Jensen had been the one to light the Yule log, the one to bring in trays of cookies and help prepare the glogg. Now there was Jared, and celebrating Yule with a master who was a young boy was very, very different than celebrating it in the household of an elderly man.

Since the first day of the Yuletide was also the mid-point day of the Century of the Raptor, among all his other duties, Jensen was to keep an eye on Jared as he celebrated the day. To mark the event, there were hawk shaped kites being flown from trees and posts along the streets, and little strings of paper hawks were attached to aerials and antennas on cabs and trucks and vans and private cars. They broke free to float on the wind; they littered the streets and the gutters. The townthralls were kept busy sweeping the colorful bits of papers up, and busy keeping the toddlers, who darted into the streets to collect the little bits, from ending up in the Knick-Knack wagon. 

When evening came, Families flew the paper raptors from their windows—from the lowest ranks to upper crust—including the Padaleckis.

* * * 

Jensen watched as Jared threw his brightly-colored paper hawks from one of the highest window of the mansion, cheered with him as they floated away on the breeze, eventually drifting and tumbling to the earth. They lit sparklers, too, and flung them out into the night—they burned out quick as a wink, ashes before they landed, but for their brief life they were beautiful; green and blue and yellow sparkles brighter than the stars.

After that celebration came the choosing of a Yule Tree. Jared came home with bright red cheeks and nose, and a lovely, lovely tree. He directed Mark—the assistant Houseboy had done the actual tree cutting—on where to erect it, under the watchful eye of Mistress Padalecki.

Once the tree sat in its proper spot, Jensen was drafted to help decorate it, pushing the ladder here and there, taking suggestions from Jared and Mistress and masterMaid. He helped Jared hang what felt like miles of electric lights, along with glass balls and stars and strand after strand of silvery garland. They unpacked clockwork ornaments that Jared tried to pretend he had no interest in, now that he'd grown. He generously allowed Jensen to hang them in between the glass ornament, though. Jensen saw the way Jared's eye lit up when the little clockworks warmed up and began to duck and bob, shake wings and tiny legs, and pipe out simple versions of beloved carols. Jensen loved them as well, and inched closer to Jared, nudging him until he laughed and sang along with the little animals.

After Jared was sent to bed, Jensen helped the staff set out pine boughs and electric candles on what seemed like every available surface. 

Morning brought the first day of Yule. While Jared accompanied his mother on the traditional Yule visits, Jensen made his way to the kitchen. On a Yule morning, it was the best place to be, warm, inviting, filled with the smell of good things cooking—lamb and beef, greens and bread, and of course the cakes and cookies and candy that was the best part of Yule, at least as far as Jensen was concerned. 

He made his way around the room, skipping over the tiles he'd helped sweep, cleaning greens and setting huge bowls of them on the spotless granite counters—counters he'd helped keep that way. He dashed this way and that, fetching spices and stirrers and bowls when called to. He stirred pots right along with the kitchen girls, brought serving dishes and bowls and glasses out to the ballroom with the trayboys. 

'Cook and her staff slipped him so many little tidbits that he was soon stuffed—he was patted and hugged, tugged this way and that—"Jensen, get me a spoon, Jensen taste this sauce, hand me a bit of that sugared ginger—take a piece for yourself, I know you want it." 

The kitchen staff spoiled him horribly. 

When the food preparations finally slowed down, Jensen settled in to help the kitchen staff in making up little burlap sacks, each containing an orange, a peppermint stick, and a few pieces of maple candies, to be given to the thralls of the estate, along with a small bag each of salt and flour. Making the bags had always been his favorite part of the holiday, something he'd enjoyed doing with Master Patrick's staff—he was thrilled that the Padalecki Estate followed the tradition as well, even if there were no little toys for the toddlers. Like Master Patrick's estate, house thralls were part of the Yule celebration—no flour or salt as their meals came from the house, but they did get slippers, or ribbons, or gloves, whichever they cared for, along with their candies and fruit—in that respect Mistress was as generous and Jensen's late Master had been.

 

The gifts were in place when the Padaleckis finally returned, heading up a train of fashionable and festively dressed holiday visitors, family and friends, trailing into the house with their arms full of packages and chattering away excitedly. Jensen stood behind masterMaid, watching the arrival of other masters of Jared's age and the thralls of other houses in Jensen's age group.

The Yule log was set in the grate and lit by maserHouseboy while the mistress watched, and Jensen envied him the duty. As the flames caught, friends and family held hands, said a quiet prayer of thanks. The sconces were dimmed and the candles were lit, the scene almost the same as Thanksgiving Day, except Mistress had arranged a buffet in the ballroom instead of a set table. Visitors helped themselves, moving freely through the public areas of the house, their thralls trailing after to take plates and glasses. The audiocon piped carols in every room, including a new favorite of Jensen's, _Do You Hear What I Hear?_

Mistress commanded the house thralls to dance and sing along with her audiocon for the entertainment of her guests. Halfway through the evening, there was a short performance featuring the estate's toddlers. They sang a selection of traditional and modern carols. Their voices were clear and bright—the voice of angels, several of the guests exclaimed, pleasing her. Jensen smiled at that, and winked at a few of the younger ones. They'd be sure to get extra this season, and sure enough, assistant 'Houseboy directed one or two of the older staff to make up plates of goodies for them.

* * * 

The thralls were sent out to dance again, and Jensen found himself dancing with a thrall from another household, surprised that he was enjoying it very much. The boy was slim, dressed in his estate's uniform of steel grey with a navy trim. He was as tall as Jensen, with big blue eyes and brown hair that tumbled over his forehead—he had a wide, bright smile. Jensen felt himself growing warmer, especially when the boy adjusted their grip so that his hand, slim and warm, fit into Jensen's perfectly.

The music grew softer, and He spun Jensen in a slow, gentle turn. The lights whirled, and the room seemed to blur for a moment, all gold and white and green… Jensen laughed along with the boy, another turn brought them to the edge of he dance floor, and there was Jared. The light caught him in such a way that he was all Jensen could see, sitting ramrod straight on the benches with the other young masters. His expression was grim, a deep frown creasing his face as he glared at the dancers…at _him._ Jensen tried to quickly bow out of the dance, masking his disappointment, his worry. The other thrall, _Theo,_ he'd whispered into Jensen's ear as they danced, at first tried to stop Jensen, but he only had to murmur, "The master—" and Theo let go of him like a shot, then faded so quickly into the dancers it was as if he'd been a figment of Jensen's imagination. He hurried over to Jared, and asked if he'd like anything, cocoa, one of the tiny children's glasses of mulled wine, but Jared shook his head no, and after a few moments, graced Jensen with a smile. 

At ten o'clock, masterHouse boy wheeled a smallish cabinet into the ballroom, and opened it with a bit of a flourish. The visitors exclaimed, some clapping their hands—it was an iconoscope, a marvel that had debuted on the western coast of Columbia, and also United Albion the winter before. The thralls were all about this new thing—some had been lucky enough to see one before this evening and it had dominated gossip for months. 

Mistress tapped her ring against her glass. "Attention, family, friends…" 

Everyone quieted and gathered in a loose circle. The president was about to give his Yule Message to the Republic of America, via audiocon as usual, and this year for the first time, the iconoscope. 

The thralls draw back to the rear of the room so that the freemen could see the iconscope clearly. The small screen slowly lightened, a high buzzing sound that felt like it was just at the range of his hearing grew until a bright white dot in the center of the screen suddenly became a picture—a moving picture shrunk to fit the dimensions of the iconoscope. It was amazing, Jensen thought, and ducked lower so that he could get a glimpse of the screen in-between sets of freeman elbows.

 

Silence settled on the ballroom, the revelers and the thralls listened to the voice of the president, regal, calm, soothing; he described what progress had been made that year, also promising that the coming year would bring prosperity, peace, plenty—"in other words," he said with a smile, "more of the same."

The freemen chuckled softly; the thralls of course remained silent. Across the ballroom, Jensen caught Jared's eyes and wiggled his fingertips in a secret wave. Jared blushed; his fingers twitched in a return wave, a quickly fading wash of pink swept across his cheeks, a blush that momentarily make his eyes a pure green.

Jensen felt a small catch of surprise at Jared's reaction, along with a niggling sense of worry and a thin burst of warmth as well—it was all very confusing. He blinked back to awareness, just in time to hear President Woolman wish all of the Republic a Happy Yule and a prosperous New Year. 

The guests lingered a bit after the president's speech, but eventually the footmen, a pair of indentured thralls, began escorting guests to their vehicles. Jensen helped the tray boys clean the ballroom and everyone eventually ended up in the kitchen. They were perched here and there, on counters and stools and on the floor, helping themselves to whatever was left of the feast. It was a moment of pure peace. The masters were at church, and though some thralls were at their own version of church—mainly the indentured thralls—most were there in the kitchen. Tradition allowed the doors to be opened and the thralls to glean what they could. Jensen had never participated in the tradition; he'd always gone to church as Master Patrick's aide. He thought he liked this a little more—the freedom, the companionship, the feeling that for a little bit, he was his own person.

The toddlers and their mothers had long gone to bed, and only the house thralls were in the kitchen. Jensen was sitting under a table, a napkin full of broken cookie pieces in his lap. He listened idly to a few of the men speaking together; their voices lower than they'd been. He heard Mark say something odd to a few of them, just catching the tail end of it. 

"—and believe me, boys, you know one day the morning star will finally shine on those brand new roads. Our very own dirigible captain will land for us, all brass buttons, shinin' an' ready to go."

Jensen felt a little creep of warmth in his chest. Everyone knew the Dirigible Captain stories—he was a beloved bit of fiction—along with Santa Claus and Mother Earth. The little giggle that escaped him alerted Mark to his presence, he gave Jensen a wink and a grin. "End of the road for all good thralls, Lucky." 

Just as Mark said that, just as the thralls laughed together, masterHouseboy walked in, face red with fury. 

"Are you stupid?" he snapped. "Keep your blarney to yourself, Mark, or there'll be another field thrall hauling wagons this New Year. And you, boy—get your ass back to the nursery, the master's on his way home."

Jensen bolted, before 'Houseboy changed his mind and decided to give him a full lesson instead of a just a cuff to the head.

* * * 

Jared woke when Jensen tried to creep quietly into the nursery, he'd been planning on grabbing a blanket from his nest and going straight to his cubby and thinking about what he thought Mark might have been talking about…Jared wouldn’t hear of it, instead Jared demanded that Jensen sleep in his bed. He jokingly suggested that Santa would think he was a free boy and give him extra gifts.

"Jared, I don’t think you need to make up excuses to get me into bed. I'm happy to sleep with you, especially as it makes you so comfortable." Jensen slept fairly well whenever he spent the night in Jared's bed, even if it wasn't as warm, or as soft, as Jensen's piles of quilts and pillows. It held Jared, though, who curled into him with so much trust and happiness, it made Jensen feel that way too. 

He hopped into the bed, slid under the covers and threw his arms around Jared's skinny body, giggled when Jared snuffled and screwed himself down into Jen's hold. Just like a puppy, he thought fondly. "G'night, Jensen," Jared muttered into the hollow of Jensen's neck—his moist warm breath making Jensen shiver with the way it tickled. 

"Good night, Jared," Jensen sighed. For a moment, it was almost like floating in the lake on a summer's day, it felt that good. So free. 

Jared blinked, and reared his head back, staring into Jensen's eyes. Jensen smiled bemused, watching as Jared seemed to be thinking of something very important. Suddenly, without preamble and shocking Jensen speechless, the boy darted forward and pressed his lips to Jensen's mouth. Seconds later, he pressed his hips against Jensen—Jensen startled at the feel of Jared and how he was slightly hard and rapidly getting harder. Jensen froze as Jared rubbed, quick and frantically, against the muscle of Jensen's thigh, then trembling, let out a confused sort of moan-creak. There was a spreading feeling of warmth and dampness against Jensen's bared leg, his nightshirt having rolled up under Jared's frantic thrusts, and then, Jared pulled away, bright red and breathing heavily. 

"I—I—"

Jensen laid a finger over Jared's damp lips, pressing them closed. He pulled his own nightshirt off and lifted Jared's to clean him with it, carefully wiping him, ignoring his little squeaks and startles. Ignoring the blushes that painted both their faces, and the corresponding hardness of his own shaft. He hoped it would go away quickly—he leaned over and dropped the shirt over the side of the bed. When Jared tried again to speak, he whispered, "Shhh. We have to sleep now, morning will come so early and you have presents to give."

He gently stroked the hair back from Jared's face and after a moment, Jared nodded, snuggled down again, and said, "Thank you, Jensen. Good-night, Jen." He threw a thin arm around Jensen, trapping him against his side. It was less than minutes before Jensen heard, and felt, Jared's steady, warm exhalations. He sighed, settled himself in, willing his heart to still and his breath to even out…. 

Jensen blinked back a few tears, finally drifting off to sleep himself.

* * * 

Jensen had a block of time to himself; Jared had classes that didn't require Jensen's attendance.

Yuletide Eve had unlocked all sorts of questions and worries in Jensen's head. He was afraid that his role might change, and if that was the case then…he needed guidance, someone who would understand all aspects of what worried him, who would have answers. He needed masterHouseboy. 

He let himself into the corridor and headed swiftly, but not so swiftly as to draw attention to himself, to masterHouseboy's suite of rooms. Nerves made him knock too sharply on his door, so he drew himself up and pretended like he was calm, something he was excellent at. When 'Houseboy opened the door, to say he was surprised was an understatement. 

"Boy, what are you doing banging on my door? Haven't you got something productive to do? Training with 'Cook? Or the stable master? Something?" The man's narrow eyes went even thinner, he was squinting at Jensen with a ferocious scowl, and his grizzled beard nearly vibrated with outrage at Jensen's temerity. 

"masterHouseboy, please, may I, please, ask a question—" he stuttered, but pressed on quickly when 'Houseboy wanted to interrupt, irritation coloring what was visible of his cheeks. "—under the rose, I beg."

'Houseboy rocked back on his heels, surprised again. Rubbing his hand over his scruffy beard, he snorted. "Well, come in, damn it and wait here at the door." He closed the door when Jensen stepped in and called for his assistant. 

It wasn't long before Mark let himself into the room. He was wiping grease off his hands, and he looked scruffy and more than a little pleased with himself. "What's up Jim? You interrupted me—I finally got that Roper'pede steamin'…oh. Lucky. What's Lucky doing loafing around here?"

"Jensen, not Lucky, damn it—and he wants to speak 'under the rose'."

"Oh!" Mark looked shocked, and then nodded. "Right. Smart boy." He sat at Jim's desk. "So, let me guess…little Master has taken a liking to some part of you."

Jensen blushed a bright red and became fascinated with his hands—he managed a small nod.

Jim picked up the thread, incidentally sparing Jensen further embarrassment. "So, you want to talk to Mistress…see if Mistress will set some boundaries. Because if little Master sets them, odds are you'll be even less than a body thrall…long as Mistress holds the line, you still have an excellent chance of being more…" Jim carded fingers through his beard, humming to himself awhile Jensen tried to be patient, waiting for masterHouseboy's decision. 

Body thrall, or just an untrained sex toy…there was really little hope there. There was the hope he'd satisfy enough to delay the day he'd be sold off—with luck to a brothel, with no luck, the public works and eventually, the knick-knack man. Jensen prayed silently and intensely that 'Houseboy would arrange a talk with Mistress Padalecki. He loved Jared, but given a choice, he'd rather not die for him.

* * * 

"Come in, Jensen." The mistress was at her desk, one of her gold cigarettes smoking away in a little cloisonné tray. She rose, walked towards Jen. It was so quiet in her drawing room Jensen could her chiffon skirts rustle as she moved. She stopped in front of him, and Jensen stared at the glossy red leather of her slippers. Light danced over a diamond medallion at the toe of each slipper…he studied them, willing his heart to slow. He hoped he wasn't sweating, or blushing…he put all his heart and soul into appearing calm. Like the Mistress.

"You may look up, Jensen. I'd rather see your face than the back of your neck while I talk to you. Now, Jim tells me that there has been an…incident. That you wanted to talk to me about it. Speak freely."

"Mistress, excuse me," Jensen began, feeling like he was a breath from tumbling over the edge of a precipice. It was surprising how calm he sounded—he really wasn't. "I…I wanted to know how to proceed. I belong to Jared, but you are the Estate, Mistress. I do not want to displease you."

Mistress walked away, she leaned against one of the windows that overlooked the rear garden. The light made her bob into a glossy black helmet…she wasn't beautiful, but she was striking. Jensen was distracted by how much Jared looked like her, thinking how little he looked like his father….

"You are very wise for your age, Jensen. Very wise." She turned fully to him. "In one way, it's wrong to seek to protect yourself like this. Your only concern should be your master, because everything about you belongs to him. Your labor is expected. Your desires are meaningless and when you die, your body is pig food. But there is…the thing that no one will admit. You are human." 

Jensen was ice—his blood ran cold, his heart was frozen. He was terrified, and in his memory, breathing in the smell of creosote and blood, the smell of the posts….

"Jensen…assistant 'Houseboy Mark is a good thrall. He knows, we know, he will never be more than assistant. However, I think you posses the skill and intelligence required to make an excellent 'Houseboy. You would be a waste as a bed thrall. Jensen, there will be no training—" she waved her hand, "Oh, enough training to keep you two from hurting each other and to keep Jared entertained and focused...but your training will be different. When you attend school with Jared, consider yourself a student as well."

Jensen blinked, unable to respond, certain he'd just fallen into a dream. When mistress required him to respond, all he could manage was, "No…no posts?"

Mistress's smile was wry. "No, Jensen. No posts. Now, please ask masterMaid to enter, and have a room girl bring Jared to me. You may…you may spend an hour or so in the library if you like, or maybe some time at the technologist's shop…?"

"Thank you, thank you," Jensen said and made himself scarce as quickly as possible. He felt like he had been granted an incredible gift, plus some assurance of a good future…he was happy, so happy that he felt like his feet were skimming the floor, almost flying. 

 

_book excerpt is from The Hobbit or There and Back Again by J.R.R. Tolkien_


End file.
